The pie that binds

Grandma’s apple pie.

We all have her recipe, but there is no denying it tasted better when she made it. Maybe because she held the measurements in her hands. A pinch. A dab. A dot. Some of her recipes simply say, you’ll know when it’s ready.

She gave me that handwritten recipe, along with many others, in a wooden box with a carved pear handle. That was almost 20 years ago now.

I’ve made her pie at least 100 times. The recipe card carries the proof, stained with apple, cinnamon, and sugar. At some point, my cousin Ali told me the recipe was just an old version of Betty Crocker. We laughed, because our grandmother’s name was Betty. But that doesn’t matter. The pie is hers. And now it’s ours.

Over the years, I’ve read other baking books and tried new things. I’m always searching for a way to differentiate it, maybe even win my hometown pie contest. Pro tip from my dad and former pie contest judge — easy on the allspice.

But the truth is, there isn’t much variation between recipes. Flour, fat, water. Sugar, cinnamon, apples.

What makes a great pie isn’t written in any cookbook or recipe card.

She was right, over time, you get a feel for it.

The real ingredient in her recipes was never listed. It was trial and error. Repetition. Time.

She didn’t pass down the recipe. She passed down the practice.

The pie that binds us.